Reel to Real (28 page)

Razor shifted his feet and looked around. “Calm down lady. This is bizness. Ya need it, I got it.” He played with the zipper on his jacket and repositioned his feet several times. “How much ya got on ya? I could maybe help ya out.”

Esther stared at him and pulled out a thrice-folded twenty.

Without so much as the bat of an eye, Razor grabbed the money and pressed the drugs into her hand. Instinctively, she uncurled her fingers to look at her purchase. There were only a few specks of a white chalk-like substance in the bag but she knew she might need it so she nodded. Razor flashed some bad teeth, reiterated he still wanted to see John, and left. Esther remained on the balcony, clasping the baggie in her sweaty hand.

Before long, a cold breeze pushed her back inside, where she pulled a blanket around her shoulders. Shivering slightly, she vowed to use the meth only in a severe emergency. She tossed the baggie in her dresser drawer before resettling herself on the too-big chair. She knew if she smoked the meth it would show up on a random drug test and that wouldn’t be good. That was, of course, if she was still in town to take one. She hoped she would not be.

An hour later, she could no longer hold out. Nothing mattered and she did not care about any potential drug tests. This was officially a severe emergency. She needed help staying awake and she needed it now. She didn’t care how she did it.

Sitting atop her unmade bed, she put a few specks of white in a glass pipe and lit up. The instant she sucked in, her troubles lightened.

9:45 AM

It was a six hour drive to Pueblo, Colorado. APD Detectives Torres and Fay, and Bernalillo County District Attorney Robert Schwartz, made the trip without a break. They were anxious to meet with their informant.

Once there, the four men talked about many things and ultimately reached an agreement. A signed deal was made with John Lausell that he would not be prosecuted for his run-in with the seventeen-year-old boy he had threatened with a gun. He would not have his parole revoked, and he would not be prosecuted for his role in Esther Beckley’s destruction of evidence, which included cutting up and discarding her boots.

All this in exchange for his testimony regarding the story Esther Beckley told him.

He was somehow able to negotiate this very elaborate deal on his own, without using a lawyer. But it was made clear to him, that if there was ever any evidence that proved he was involved in either the Hollywood Video murders or the Mac’s Steak in the Rough robbery, he would be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. His agreement did not protect him against lying.

After spending several hours discussing particulars with the detectives and the district attorney, John Lausell was directed to make a phone call to Shane Harrison in Albuquerque, New Mexico. The conversation was audio taped without Shane's knowledge.

John was told to discuss any and all crimes while on the phone with Shane, which he did. They discussed possibly robbing a bank in Colorado, and possibly the Denver Mint. They did not, however, discuss anything regarding the video store robbery or murders.

“Contradiction is not a sign of falsity, nor the lack of contradiction a sign of truth.”

B
LAISE
P
ASCAL

Tuesday, March 12, 1996

In what many New Mexico citizens considered the murder case of the century, the police finally got a break. A tip from an anonymous informant had provided the information they had been so desperately seeking.

Arrest warrants were issued.

***

Earlier in the day, Esther Beckley met with her parole officer. After that, she drove herself over to a twice-weekly court-mandated counseling session. Like most places she went these days, the composite drawings of the suspected video store killers were posted on her therapist’s office wall. She reviewed the poster once again and shook her head. The drawings did not look like anyone she knew.

The receptionist told her to have a seat, it would be a minute. She settled in on a beanbag chair and yawned. So-oooo tired. The buzz from the meth was wearing off. She leaned her head back on her arms and her eyes drooped.

She was close to complete unconsciousness when a loud noise jerked her awake. The front door flew open and what looked to an army of Albuquerque Police officers stormed inside, guns drawn. Not knowing what else to do, Esther raised her hands in surrender. The officers had come to arrest her, no doubt about it. She provided no resistance as she was handcuffed and escorted by a flank of officers to a waiting police car outside. A short time later, she was driven to APD headquarters on Roma Street for questioning.

***

While Esther had found it difficult to sleep, Shane had had the opposite problem.

It was hard for him to even get out of bed. As the days dragged on, he did not feel as social as he once did. He couldn't stop fixating on his problem — his weak link/Esther-ratting-him-out problem. He couldn't decide if he should continue with the intimidation method or move to a more permanent solution. The indecision was killing him.

But today, for no particular reason, he felt a little peppier and decided to rent a movie. He even decided to pick up his apartment a bit. He gathered all of his half-eaten fast-food containers into a big garbage bag and took it outside to the dumpster at the back of his complex.

Moments after tossing the bag, a swarm of police officers dressed in riot gear and carrying assault rifles advanced toward him.

“Don’t move,” one of them shouted into an amplified bullhorn. “You’re surrounded.”

***

Once inside police headquarters, Esther Beckley was placed in a holding cell. The room was six by eight and completely bare, with the exception of a metal table and three chairs. Detective Rick Foley sat opposite her and Detective Doug Shawn sat off to one side. Before anyone said a word, Detective Foley turned on a tape recorder. Then he removed her handcuffs.

Detective Shawn read Esther her Miranda rights and asked if she understood what had been read to her. She said yes and signed a paper confirming she did.

“Tell us about your involvement in the Hollywood Video murders,” Foley said.

“I have no involvement,” Esther replied, head down.

“Why don’t you make it easy on yourself, Ms. Beckley, and tell us everything you know about those murders. We have information that you were there.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.

“I think you do. Tell me about the five people you killed.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said again, still no eye contact.

“Ms. Beckley,” the detective continued. “We know you did it and we will wait however long it takes for you to tell us the truth.”

“I don’t know anything. I wasn’t involved. Like I said, I don’t know what you are talking about. I want a lawyer.”

“A lawyer? Fine. No problem. We’ll need you to wait in a different room while we find you your lawyer.”

The detective nodded to an officer standing outside the door.

“Sergeant, please escort Ms. Beckley to HC4,” Detective Foley said. Then he scribbled something on a piece of paper and handed it to the sergeant.

***

Shane Harrison did not put up a fight when he was captured, but he was not cooperative. The police had to drag him into the police station.

***

Esther was escorted to a smaller room, a holding cell that appeared to be under construction. Some of the ceiling panels were missing and pieces of cut sheet rock leaned against the wall. The wall contained a sizable hole that exposed studs and insulation.

Once more in cuffs, Esther was placed in a straight back chair and left in the room by herself.

An indeterminate amount of time passed before the sergeant returned to remove her cuffs. Esther rubbed her reddened wrists with a grim look and waited for the next shoe to drop. Shortly, two plain-clothes detectives — one male and one female — entered the room. The female had a can of Coke in her hand and did all the talking.

“Hello, Ms. Beckley,” she said cordially. “My name is Geri Byrne and I thought maybe we could talk for a few minutes.”

Esther said hello but otherwise waited stone-faced for the next round of accusations.

“I thought you might be thirsty,” Geri said, pushing the Coke can forward. Esther looked suspiciously at the can and then squinted at Officer Geri.

“Go ahead, drink it,” the detective said with a smile. “There’s no trap.”

***

Not far from the holding cell Esther occupied was a conference room that was sometimes used for extra-ordinary interrogations. It contained a two-way mirror, some audio/video equipment, and seating for eight. Shane Harrison sat in the room alone. His hands were shackled.

Two plain-clothes officers and one uniformed officer entered the room and whispered among themselves. The uniformed officer eventually stepped outside.

One of the plain-clothes officers, a 36 year old detective named Yost, patted Shane down and removed his handcuffs. Yost, a man with a wide forehead and a downturned mouth, seated himself directly across from Shane and flipped through a stack of file folders.

“Hello Shane. I’m Detective Yost and this is Detective Rojo,” he said, pointing to a medium-built man in a tailored gray wool suit who was seated with his back against the wall.

“Just so you know, we’re going to be recording everything that happens here today.” Yost pressed a button on a nearby audio cassette recorder.

Shane turned his head towards the button.

“Shane, do you know why you’re here today?” the detective asked, looking up.

“You think I did something that I didn’t.” Shane said, mouth in a straight line.

“Shane, to put it plainly, we’ve been given information that you were involved in the Hollywood Video homicides. We have already talked to several of your acquaintances and they’ve told us quite a few interesting things.” Yost looked at his notes and then back at Shane. “Basically we want to get your side of the story.”

Shane had a bad reaction to Yost’s statement. He stood up — eyes flashing, bottom teeth exposed — and staggered two feet over to a vacant corner of the room.

“No,” he said.

Yost and Rojo looked at each other.

Shane backed himself into the corner. “No,” he said again, this time much louder. He smacked his fist into the wall. Then came the tears, accompanied by more yelling of the word “no.”

“You need to calm down, Shane,” Yost said in a firm voice.

Shane did not calm down. The howling only grew louder.

“Shane,” Yost said sternly. “You’re going to have to stop that. I can’t have you swinging your fists in here.”

Shane stilled his hands but the yelling continued.

“Shane, listen to me. If you can’t get some type of control over yourself, for everyone’s safety, we’re going to have to cuff you back up. I’m going to ask you one last time to calm down.”

After Yost’s ultimatum, Shane put the brakes on his outburst. He stopped crying, and after a few more minutes, he sat back down.

Yost read Shane his rights and Shane agreed to proceed without a lawyer.

“Okay, let’s start over,” Yost said. “You understand that you are here to tell us what you know about the Hollywood Video homicides.”

Shane turned his head toward the wall. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I had nothing to do with those murders.”

“You had nothing to do with those murders? Did you know about them?

“I knew about ’em but I didn’t do ’em.”

“So you did know about them, then?” Yost kept his tone casual. “At what point did you become aware of them?”

“I think it was the 6:00 or 6:30 news that made me aware,” Shane said, pulling on his goatee.

“Six o’clock news is it?”

“Right.”

“On Sunday?”

“Right.”

The detective leaned toward Shane, “Why’d you kill five people?”

“I didn’t kill anyone,” he shot back.

“We found a bag of guns in your apartment, Shane. That doesn’t look good.”

“They’re not mine.”

“You admit there were guns in your apartment?”

Shane cleared his throat. “Yeah, but they don’t belong to me.”

Detective Rojo, a fifteen-year veteran of the force, had been silent until that point. Now he pulled out a stick of spearmint gum and pushed the entire piece to the back of his mouth. He chewed it slowly and at length, all the while glaring at Shane with hard hazel eyes.

“What kind of guns did you have in the bag?” Rojo asked quietly.

Shane hesitated. “I’m not sure what was in there. Some kind of automatic something or other. I don’t know. Like a little assault gun.”

“Then you did have the TEC-9 and shotgun at your house?” Rojo said.

“Yes.”

Yost stood up, leaned on the table, and looked down at Shane. “So your fingerprints would be on the guns. True?”

Shane shook his head slowly and repeatedly. “No, I never handled ’em.”

“You
never
handled them?”

“All's I did was look at ’em.”

“You haven’t shot it?”

“Which one?”

“The semiautomatic.”

“I have looked at it.”

“Have you handled it?”

“No.”

“But you went and bought some ammunition for the guns somewhere.”

“Yes, at Walmart.”

“When you went to buy the shotgun, did you go with your neighbor?”

“No.”

Detective  Rojo stopped talking and opened a folder filled with handwritten notes. He put his reading glasses on and adjusted them, then shuffled through the papers, taking his time. Then he fixated on one particular piece of paper and looked up.

“Shane, we’ve already talked to your neighbor. He’s cooperating. He’s agreed to cooperate with us. He told us specifically that he went with you to buy a shotgun. He told us which shotgun you purchased in his presence, and how much you paid.” Rojo ripped off his reading glasses and raised his voice. “So, you want to try that one again? Shane? Did you buy a shotgun with your neighbor?”

Shane pressed his hands flat together with his fingers spread out in thought. “Okay, yeah,” he said. “I did buy a shotgun.”